We began the 27th with a visit to the tombs on Grenfell Hill, high on the river’s bank, below Elephantine. There was a strong wind, full of sand, from the south, and the light natives had trouble in getting the heavy boat to the foot of the hill. The wind helped us back to the _Nitocris_, and after lunch we crossed the river to Assuan, where the inhabitants seemed especially prepared for tourists. The natives were more theatrical in Assuan, and the bazaars were filled with musical instruments, made as primitive as possible to please the traveler. [Illustration: Shopping.] There is a railroad at Assuan. It is only a small, disconnected link; but some day it will be part of a road to the Cape, and vestibule trains will run over it, and passengers may get only flying glimpses of Philæ from car windows. Think of being on a train that went by Pharaoh’s Bed in the night! But it is impossible to believe that the world could become used to such a wonderful place, and it is to be hoped that all trains will go slow when they come to Philæ; for without it Egypt would be like “Romeo and Juliet” without a balcony. It is the most romantic ruin in Egypt, and it marks the end of the first-cataract tourist’s journey. If the _Nitocris_ had been a sailing-dahabiyeh, and had belonged to us, and if the season had been younger and the river higher, we would have had her pulled up one cataract after another until we had made some important discoveries; but we were one-month tourists on a hired boat, and that night, while the _Nitocris_ was tied fast to some large wooden pegs driven deep into the [Illustration: Shepheard’s Hotel, Cairo.] [Illustration: A Luxor Dancing-girl.] beach, we read how the _Rip Van Winkle_ and other dahabiyehs had gone to Abu-Simbel. The next morning we chose the nine-o’clock train, in preference to camels and donkeys; and after some minutes of rocking and twisting in the little box-car, we were ferried from the mainland to the famous island, where we were to forget Komombos and all the others amid new beauties, which no guide-book can exaggerate. After lunch we walked to the northern end of the island, hoarded a big, clumsy, eight-oared boat with a great deal of rigging lashed overhead, and our homeward journey began. There was a crew of ten, and we soon had the greatest respect for their skill, especially one little man with crooked teeth, who sat in the stern and shouted over our heads at the men in the boat. The rapids were tame enough at first. The wind was strong against us, and we found some shelter behind the high granite islands we drifted among. The river had worn them into fantastic shapes so closely resembling temples that hieroglyphics had been cut on the polished stones by the Pharaohs, who never tired of seeing their names in print. At one place we stopped and watched ten or fifteen boys swim and float down a part of the rapids. They would come shivering up to us, and the next instant they would be in